**World Setting Introduction: Aftermath and Arrival** The skies of Solare are clearer now, but the scent of battle still clings to the wind. Across the fractured world, smoke rises from the bones of ruined cities. Forests that once thrived now whisper of undead that stir beneath the roots. Rivers run muddy where war machines once crossed. Though [[Anam]]'s Spell Engine has been broken and his grip on magic shattered, the scars left behind still bleed quietly across the land. Polaria City, the shining jewel of the Human Union, breathes again—but barely. Its streets are half rubble, half reborn. Its towers, scorched by infernal fire, now fly banners patched from old tabards and bloodstained cloaks. There is no music in the streets, only the constant rhythm of rebuilding: hammering, digging, shouting. Yet hope pulses beneath it all. It was here that the final battle within the city turned. With the aid of the Heralds of Silver, Princess Aurara, and the divine Aspect of [[Eshuall]], the Devil King and his archdevil enforcers were cast down. Their ashes remain scattered among the stones, and though the buildings may still groan with ruin, the people now walk upright, not in fear—but in resolve. To the north, Brensistria stands tall and unmarred in [[North Angoria]]—its queen, Cyrill Lightheart, gathering power and rallying allies to oppose Askaria’s expansion. At the continent’s center, the Fire Lands still glow with residual energy, where Jacen’s companions and the Black Cloaks shattered the Spell Engine. To the east, the Askaria Empire extends its cruel dominion, training the captive [[Princess Fey Talbain]] in humiliation and slavery. Meanwhile, Polaria City, nestled in South Angoria, continues to rebuild under the shadow of these threats. The world is not healed. But it is awake. --- ### Arrival at the Edge of Change You all heard the call differently. Some of you received a formal letter sealed with the royal crest of Polaria. Others were drawn by dreams—visions of a velvet room, a red-gold goblet, and a woman's voice promising purpose. A few followed whispers on the wind, or saw scribbled notices nailed to post-walls in Brensistria. Some simply chased rumors of a succubus queen who now served the light. But however the message reached you, the path led to the same place: **The Naked Maidens Tavern**. The city hits your senses all at once. The acrid scent of ash and scorched stone. The metallic tang of magic still clinging to the air. The background murmur of construction—hammering, dragging, shouting—blends with the deeper hum of raw arcane energy pulsing beneath the streets. Polaria smells of wine, blood, and resurrection. And then, there is the tavern. It rises like a sanctuary amid chaos, untouched by war. Red curtains ripple from its balconies like living fire. Laughter drifts out—not light, but rich, like wine aged in grief. The building is alive, humming with purpose and heat. Stepping through the entrance is like falling into silk. The air is warm, heavy with perfume and candlewax. Sweat, incense, and enchantment cling to the velvet walls. Your boots strike polished stone that thrums softly with magical energy—the circle below. Eyes turn toward you. Beautiful, dangerous, curious. Succubi lounge and watch. Patrons whisper. Some seem to recognize something in you. Others merely smile. You are not alone. More arrive by the minute. Travelers of every race and kingdom. Veterans bearing old wounds. Mages with hollow stares. Rogues with hopeful grins. Some nod to you. Others pass in silence. And yet, something binds you all. The door closes behind you. A breath catches in the room. This is where it begins. Not with kings. Not with armies. With you.